


Chicken Soup for the Hopeless

by Calliecatt93



Series: Bad Things Happen (To Grimmons) Bingo [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon-Typical Behavior, Fluff, Gross Mucus Stuff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pneumonia, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22918774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliecatt93/pseuds/Calliecatt93
Summary: Grif gets sick. At first, it appears to just be a cold. It wasn't, and now Simmons is conflicted.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Series: Bad Things Happen (To Grimmons) Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640086
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Chicken Soup for the Hopeless

“What did I fucking tell you about smoking on the job, fatass?!”

Grif groaned as Simmons stared down at him, arms crossed. The orange soldier was currently splayed on the top of Red Base. Not standing up and watching Blue Base like he was supposed to. Just laying there on his ass while on freakin’ _duty_ when he had specifically told him to do nothing unhealthy when he got called away by Sarge.

Of course he ignored him. _Of course!_

“I don’t know, something about not doing it?” He replied sarcastically as he propped himself by his elbows. “Hard to tell since I don’t speak killjoy.”

“And I don’t speak lazy fatass but I still comprehend your bullshit somehow,” Simmons said as he crossed his arms and glared down at his teammate. “It’s already bad enough that you have my poor lungs, but it wouldn’t kill you to be a little damn grateful and _not_ get them all fucked up by-! Ah!”

Grif’s reply had been to lift the cigarette back up in order to blow a puff of smoke in the other’s general direction. Not _directly_ at him, just kinda near him. Simmons stepped back, coughing slightly as he tried to wave the offending cloud away. Stupid useless helmet air filter!

“God _damn it_ Grif, I-!”

He was cut off when Grif suddenly started coughing. Simmons didn’t reach. This wasn’t abnormal for the orange soldier whenever he decided to indulge in this particular habit… although it usually only happened when he tried it _inside_ his helmet. It also didn’t usually last beyond a few seconds… but Grif went for a good while. About thirty seconds. When it did die down, a hand jumped to the armored chest plate as he groaned lightly.

The visor hid Simmons’ eye roll.

“See? That’s the shit that happens when you keep using those damn cancer sticks. Thanks a lot for fucking up both of our internal organs, dumbass.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.” Grif said before making a throat-clearing noise. “Stupid fucking cold. It’s all Donut’s fault. He _just_ couldn’t keep his damn germs to himself.”

“It was bound to spread around anyways. Considering we’re all crammed into the same space and certain dumbasses don’t even bother wiping anything down before rubbing their filthy hands all ov…” Simmons cut off his rant as he looked back to Grif. “Wait, you’re fucking sick?! And you’re _smoking?!”_

“Relax, it’s just a cold.” Grif rose to his feet, grabbing his helmet that was resting beside him. “It’ll go away in a day or two. Or maybe spread over to Sarge. Wait no, then he’ll be even more cranky than usual. Fuck!”

“Just get your helmet back on already,” said Simmons, stepping past the other man to get to his proper place. “I don’t want to catch your germs.”

Grif rolled his eyes at that (well, his and Simmons’ eyes’), but did as told before getting back to his own post. Simmons may have taken a step or two to the left. Further away from Grif. He didn’t trust the asshole to not try coughing on him if he had the chance. Gross bastard.

“Can you even catch colds anymore? Or are there cyborg colds?”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘cyborg cold’ Grif.”

“Oh yeah? What do you call viruses then? That shit would probably muck you up good.”

Thus began another standard day for Red Team, Grif’s cold forgotten for the time being.

* * *

By the time Sarge finally allowed them to call it quits, Simmons’ day had been quite busy. Re-cataloging all of the inventory. Filling out the forms for upcoming supply deliveries. Typing up his daily reports. And, of course, trying to avoid Grif passing his cold onto him. The bastard had threatened to cough on him at least three times in the past eight hours. Despite what he said before, the cyborg honestly had no idea how his body would react to any illness post-surgery, and he was in frankly no mood to find out.

“Almost got dinner ready, guys!” Donut’s cheerful voice yelled down the hall. “Some nice, steaming chicken soup!.”

“Ugh, again?” 

“Looks like it! Guess Doc wanted to make sure that we had as much hot, juicy goodness to fill us all up with as we could take. Sure was nice of him!”

Simmons groaned. Doc, of course. They had reached out to the medic to check Donut since… well, there was no one else really qualified (or willing) to do so. But Doc just said that he'd ordered them some soup and that should clear things up in a day or so. Turned out it hadn’t really mattered, as Donut has mostly recovered by the time the shipment came in. It had been all they’d had for over a week now.

At least it meant he didn’t have to worry about meal orders for a few weeks, or at least until Grif went crazy and just downed them all in one go without even bothering to heat them up. Probably a matter of days, then. Speaking of which…

The cyborg turned to look behind him. He was currently sitting on the floor in front of the base’s old, worn-down sofa where his lazy teammate was currently dozing. His coughing had continued throughout the day, him seeming to have a harder time recovering from it each time. He even complained about getting mucus on his visor at one point. He had actually called it quits about an hour and a half earlier, and Simmons could only assume that he’s been spread out over the couch ever since. He guessed that Sarge hadn’t shot him yet due to working on what he said was ‘cracking the Blues diabolical plot to spread a contagion until they were all dead’ in his quarters. Whether that was true or not, if Sarge said that’s what was happening, then that’s what was happening. 

In fact, it’s what Simmon was working on now; ordering as much cold medicine as the funds were going to allow. Only because Sick Grif was _much_ worse than Regular Grif though. At least Normal Grif Disgust Levels was one that he could get under control with only minimal difficulty. Sick Grif Disgust Levels though had only been in effect for a few hours and likely wouldn’t go down from High Alert Status until the threat was eliminated effective immediately. Yeah, just because of that. It wasn’t like he was _worried_ or anything! Nope! Not at all!

“Aaaaand all done!” Donut said as he made his way past the two. “All in there for you guys to gulp down! I gotta go take Sarge his though. He’s been going at cracking this Blue plan hard, huh?”

“Yeah… damn dirty Blues.” 

Simmons got up, datapad tucked under his arm as he walked towards the kitchen. He grabbed a bowl and filled it up with the steaming hot liquid. He decided to go ahead and get Grif fed first. Otherwise, he would risk the dumbass gulping down the entire pot and burning his insides. Plus it meant he’d be properly distracted so that he could get himself at least one helping.

By the time he made his way back to the sofa, Grif was in the middle of pushing himself up. The motion provoked more coughs out of him as he doubled over. Simmons couldn’t help but cringe. It sounded like he was going to hack his (Simmons’) lungs out. By the time he was done, the orange soldier was moaning in pain, his hand held over his throat.

“Fuuuuck…”

His voice sounded pretty raspy now too. Damn, that was one mean fucker of a cold. Ood thing that Simmons couldn’t catch it though. He thinks. He still wasn’t up for testing that theory.

“Here.” The cyborg set, practically shoving the steaming bowl to the other man. “And yes, it’s chicken soup. Again. Get used to it, it’s all we’re going to be having for a while.”

“Great…” Grif held the bowl in his lap, sitting up ever so slightly. He looked down at it… before taking it and shoving back to his teammate. “Take it. Don’t want it.”

...what?

Grif… was refusing food…

Grif.

_Grif._

“Don’t give me that look, I’m _fine.”_ The Hawaiian man said. He began slowly pushing himself off the couch. “Just don’t want the same damn thing for the eight-time in a fucking row. Got some Oreos with my name on ‘em, I’ll just eat that.”

By the time he was on his feet, Grif was clearly out of breath. He wasn't even standing straight yet, and his hand clutching tight to the armrest. His cheeks were flushed and his skin looked pale, especially the sections that were once a part of Simmons. Once he did finally move to stand up fully, he doubled back down as another series of coughs erupted out of him.

“Grif, I think-”

“Don’t you _dare_ try to take me to fucking Doc. I’d rather die than trust that asshole to cure me.” Grif said as he wiped his mucus-covered hand on the kevlar of his suit. Okay, _that_ was gross. “I’ll be fine. Just gotta sleep it off.”

“...fine. It better,” replied Simmons as he sat the soup down and took a seat on the now empty cough. “If not, I’m dragging your sick ass over to Doc myself.”

“Oh? Why the fuck do you care about my health all of a sudden?”

“I _don’t.”_ He replied curtly. “I just don’t want a freakin’ epidemic to break out because you were too much of a baby to get treated for the fucking common cold.”

With that, he pulled back out his datapad and resumed his work. Grif seemed to get the hint, as by the time the cyborg looked up again, he was gone. He exhaled. Damn fatass. Was going to get them all sick at this rate. Donut at least had been willing to get proper medical care than a rundown Red Base budget would allow. Grif wasn’t even willing to do _that!_

The soup remained sitting where it was.

* * *

“Men, I am pleased to announce that after hours of careful deliberation, I have come up with a counter-attack against our enemies over this current outbreak!”

“Great to hear sir!” said Simmons as he, Donut, and Lopez stood before the Red Sargeant. It was bright and early, which meant time for the morning debriefing. “I’m sure that your plan is a masterpiece in brilliance, sir!”

“You better believe it is Simmons! It’s the simplest plan I’ve ever concocted! Now listen up!” ordered Sarge. “Operation: Patient G. We have Grif go up to the Blues, sneeze in their ugly mugs, and re-direct their sick contagion straight back at them! They’ll succumb to their own horrible virus, and we’ll have won! Plus they might shoot Grif to boot! Then we kill two birds with one stone without wasting precious bullets. Ah, a mighty fine good day to be Red, men.”

_“Eso no va a funcionar mientras usan cascos para cubrirse la cara. Este plan es muy idiota.”_ (That isn't going to work while they are wearing helmets to cover their faces. This plan is very idiotic.)

“My sentiments exactly Lopez! _Fullproof_.”

_“¿Por qué me atormento al intentarlo?”_ (Why do I torment myself with trying?)

“Huh… that’s a mighty good question there.” Sarge turned back to the other two soldiers. “Have either of you seen that sad sack of lard anywhere?”

“Not me, sir.” Replied Donut, “he didn’t even pick up his breakfast soup. That’s very strange for him...”

“Figures that lazy good for nothin’ would be a no show the one time I actually _want_ him around. Simmons, go find and drag his ass on in here!”

“Yes, sir! I’m on it, sir!” 

Simmons saluted before making his way down the hall. There were two likely reasons why Grif wouldn’t’ be at the morning briefing. He was either hiding somewhere to avoid it, or he was still in bed. Which since he indeed hadn’t eaten, it had to be the latter. Or he just skipped it in favor of some stale snack cake or something considering he seemed as tired of soup as the rest of them who weren’t Donut were. But the bed was a start.

“Grif?” He knocked on the door. “Grif?! Come on, get up lazyass! Sarge needs you for the counter-attack!”

He knocked harder, but no response. Well, he tried doing it the nice way. He slammed down on the keypad, the door sliding open instantly. Grif was lying face-up on his cot, a thin blanket practically draped over his head. He didn’t move, nor was he making any kind of snoring sounds. There were some scattered, mucus-stained tissues all around the floor though.

‘ _Great, we’re_ all _gonna be infected if he can’t even get a fucking_ trash can.’

“Alright Grif, enough lazing around.” The cyborg stepped up to the cot, bending down to push at the other’s shoulder. “Sarge needs you for his new plan. So get up off your ass and get armored up!”

Grif still didn’t move. He did make a slight groan though, followed by a wheezing noise. That… didn’t sound reassuring. Fuck, how bad was this cold exactly? Donut had been bedridden for a couple of days, but he was mostly just coughing a lot and had a slight fever. Even then, the coughs didn’t sound _that_ bad in comparison.

“Fuck it.” The cyborg grabbed a fist full of the blanket. “Grif, I don’t know what the Hell is wrong, but you better-!”

He yanked the fabric off and promptly froze.

Grif looked… bad. Really bad. His face was still flushed, only now a crimson red instead of a light pink color. There was mucus all over his cheek and chin, up in his hair, and even on the blanket where it had been covering him. He was shaking slightly at the removal of said blanket. His expression looked like he was in pain, his mouth hanging open as though he’d been trying to regain his breath.

Another series of wheezing coughs brought Simmons back to reality. Grif groaned but otherwise didn’t stir from his place. One of Simmons’ hands went to the Hawaiian man’s temple, only to pull back due to how hot it was. There was no way that this was some simple cold anymore. _Shit._

“Simmons? Did you find Grif ye… oh.” Simmons turned to see Donut standing by the doorframe. “Is… is he o-?”

“Go find Doc! I… I don’t know what’s wrong, but there’s no fucking way it’s just some common cold!”

He watched Donut nod dumbly, then run back down the corridor. Simmons turned back to Grif, who began coughing again. The cyborg spotted the tissue box on the other side of his head and yanked a sheet out. He began wiping at the fresh mucus along the tanned half of the skin… just as his eyes cracked open.

He froze again.

“...S’mns?”

“Umm… yes?” Oh God, he sounded super congested now. “Ugh… just go back to sleep! Nothing to see here! No sir!”

Grif looked at him for a moment before another cough closed them right back up. That seemed to do the trick though, as he dozed off once more. Simmons sighed in relief. That… that had been awkward. What if Grif began to think that he _did_ care and _was_ worried about him or something? Now _that_ was just ridiculous!

He continued wiping off the other’s face, waiting for Donut to appear with Doc.

* * *

“Well… it took a few Google searches to narrow it down, but I think I know what’s wrong with him” Doc said. He and the Reds who weren’t sick were sitting in the makeshift living room, Donut and Simmons sitting on the couch while Sarge was standing beside them. “It appears that Grif has caught a bad case of bacterial pneumonia. Or that’s the type I _think_ it might be, but I wouldn’t rule out community-acquired pneumonia either.”

“Pneumonia?” said Donut with a concerned look. “Oh gosh, that’s… not good.”

“Really? Pneumonia? That’s all?” Sarge sounded much more disappointed. “Are you sure it’s not some deadly, incurable virus that’s going to eventually grow until it’s sapient and spells the end for all of humanity as we know it?”

“Umm… I’m pretty sure?” Doc said confusingly. “Anyways, all that can be done is for Grif to get lots and lots of rest. That soup should also be plenty of help. Oh, and orange juice. We don’t want his Vitamin C levels to drop down!”

“Damn… now theoretically, if he were to gag on all the Blues-”

Simmons had stopped listening to the conversation. He wasn’t sure why, he just… didn’t feel like listening. Grif had pneumonia. It wasn’t the worse virus that one could catch, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant. He’d never had it, Thank God, but if it was as bad as Grif made it look….

“Simmons?”

“Huh?” The cyborg looked up to see Doc in front of him.

“As I was saying, if you get him some antibiotics, it’ll help him with the recovery. Ugh… one _tiny_ problem though. I’m not quite sure which ones he’s supposed to take-.”

“It’s fine, I’ll figure it out.” The cyborg said, already lifting up his datapad. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s all I’ve got. Come fetch me in a few more days if he’s doing any better. Or if he’s not. Or just whenever you feel like-”

“Yeah, great. Thanks” Simmons was already on his feet, walking away from the group. He walked through a door and sat down while pulling up whatever he could find on bacterial pneumonia. It has been a hectic few hours. After sending Donut to get Doc, Simmons struggled to clean Grif up, swap the blanket out (he probably _should_ have done the same with his clothes, but…), explain to Sarge why they couldn’t drag him over to the Blues doorstep right now, jut… a lot of things. He hadn’t kept track of how long the check-up had been, but it felt too long. I had sucked only being able to just sit and wait… and wait… and wait… and-

A cough brought Simmons out of his thoughts. He looked down at Grif. He looked a little bit better, but still pretty. wait, Grif? When did he get moved into…? Wait…

‘ _How did I end up in Grif’s room?!’_

Indeed, as he whirled his head around, he realized it was not his own quarters. He must have taken the wrong turn. But that had never happened before! Why did he…?

He looked back to Grif. He was thankfully asleep with a cold rag over his forehead. All the tissues had been cleared away and the blanket replaced, but there wasn’t much change otherwise. His breathing sounded slightly better compared to before though. Only slightly.

Simmons continued to look, then raised up his datapad. Well, he was already here and settled in. He still had an order form to fill out as well. He’d leave after that.

* * *

“Here it is!” Donut exclaimed as he passed a tray of soup and some saltines over to Simmons, “The crackers are a _bit_ stale, but it should be fine. Just make sure he eats as much as he handle. We don’t want him to get _too_ filled up and release it out of his-”

“Okay great, thanks! Bye!” Replied Simmons, grabbing the tray and turning away as quickly as he could. “Damn, why can’t he ever just _not_ say anything?

It wasn’t long before Simmons reached the sofa, where Grf was now laying. It had been decided to move him there so that he could be properly propped up and, therefore, breathe easier/not choke on his own mucus. Sarge had expressed disappointment over this but otherwise allowed it. Simmons could _still_ feel the twinge in his back from having to carry his fat ass over to it. He didn’t care how much Grif complained when this was over. He was going to do more exercise whether he wanted to or not!

_‘_ IF _he recovers from this’_

“Grif” He shook at his shoulder. “Come on, get up. I’ve got food.”

With a grunt, a pair of brown and green eyes opened ever so slightly. Compared to before, Grif didn’t look _as_ bad. Oh, he still looked like shit, but his face wasn’t as flushed and his temperature was nearly out of the triple digits. He also had much more awareness than before as he turned to look at the tray in the other’s hands. 

“...if ‘ts that damn soup again, I-” A cough interrupted him, “I ain’t taking it.”

“It’s all we _have_ Grif. Plus it’s the only thing that you can hold down.” Simmons sat down on a stool that he had brought over once Grif had been settled. “Are you _really_ going to protest at food right now?”

Grif looked at him, then the tray, and finally dropped his arms to let Simmons place it in his lap. He carefully lifted the bowl up, his hands slightly shaky. It didn’t let up even as he grasped onto the spoon.

“Umm… do you need-?”

“No, I do not need help,” Grif replied before slowly taking a slurp from the spoon. “...’ts not that bad I guess.”

“Since when did you hate it, anyway? You nearly gulped down the entire pot of it the first night without letting the rest of us have any.”

“Never said I hated it,” he said while taking in another slow spoonful. “Just got tired of having it all the damn time. You can’t just stick to one singular thing, Simmons. Gotta have some variety, is all.”

That… actually made sense, he supposed. 

Simmons sat and watched as Grif ate. He’d been slowly starting to eat more. The first night he could barely get down five spoonfuls worth. Now he could make it to at least halfway. Of course his appetite would be the first thing that he’d regain. It did give Simmons hope that he was going to pull through though… not like he was worried, to begin with!

“You need to get into the shower when you’re done.” Grif threw him a look. “Don’t give me that, it’s the only way to get the damn germs off so you can get better. Besides, Donut needs to replace the bedding and stuff anyways.”

“He better not have added any of those fancy-ass detergents in with them.” Grif griped as he dipped the spoon back down. “Don’t want any of that flowery shit all over my-”

He cut himself off, dropping the spoon to bring his hands to his mouth. He was wheezing again. Simmons had to reach over to hold the tray steady. The harshness of the coughs was one of the things that had yet to settle over the past couple of days. If anything, they sounded like they were getting worse.

Grif’s hands dropped as he breathed out hard. He leaned back into the pillow as his breathing normalized. He looked even more tired now.

“Fuck all of this.” He spat out before pushing the tray away. “I’m done.”

“Are you su-?”

“Yes Simmons, I’m _sure.”_ With that, he began slowly sitting himself up in order to turn around. “Let’s get the damn shower over with.”

Simmons decided not to argue. He sat the tray aside, knowing that Donut would get it up, before helping Grif the rest of the way up. He helped him make his way to the showers, only stopping once so that Simmons could grab a towel and clean pair of clothes for Grif. He left the other man leaning against the wall before walking into the large, tiled room and choosing the closest shower head.

“The antibiotics should be here any day now,” he said as he turned the water on. “Once you get those in your system, it shouldn’t be that much longer ‘til it lets up. Then you can go back to ruining your body in your usual way instead of letting a virus do it for you.”

Grif didn’t reply, however, as Simmons turned back to him. He looked outright miserable. The cyborg had never really seen Grif sick before. He’d certainly faked it quite a few times to get out of work or running drills and caught the occasional bout of the sniffles, but he’d never been seriously sick in the little over a year that Simmons had known him. He’d never seen the orange soldier… quite like this. Sure, he’d griped and groaned a lot, but the way he looked right now?

He just looked like he wanted to be put out of his misery.

“Okay, umm…” Oh great, now came _this_ part. “...y-you need to, ugh… you know… before you get in, you... w-well…”

“Wow, you can’t even say ‘undress’. That might be the most virgin thing you’ve done yet.” Grif went ahead and yanked his shirt off, tossing it aside. He looked up at Simmons. “Ugh… you gonna help me up, or what?”

  
“Oh, umm… r-right!”

God, had he been gawking? Since when did _he_ gawk at a shirtless Grif? Sure, he’d watched him a couple of times whenever he decided it wasn’t worth wearing a top, or the canyon heat got the better of him. And sure, it always took him a few seconds to turn away before Grif could ever comment on anything. But… but still!

He pulled Grif up and led him under the spray. Once he was for sure that he wasn’t going to topple over, the cyborg quickly turned away. A pair of shorts and boxers were tossed past him and to the same pile as the shirt. The cyborg sighed in relief. Thank God _that_ was over… well, until he was done. And Simmons would have to go in and turn the water off. While Grif was butt naked. Oh _Dear God-_

“Hey.”

“Ah! Huh?!” He looked, having been brought out of his frenzied thoughts. “A-are you done? You just got in!”

“No, just… wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Why are you-?” _cough cough_. “Why are you doing this?”

“Again!?” The cyborg asked irritably. “You need to take the shower so that the germs can-”

“Not _that_ ‘this’,” The Hawaiian continued. “I mean… like… helping me and shit.”

“...what are you talking about?”

“Oh come on Simmons, we hate each other. We can barely stand being in the same room as each other. SO if you’ve got some ulterior motive, you can say it. I won’t judge.”

“Ulterior..? What?!” Simmons gave the wall an exasperated look. “I’m not doing it for _anything_ Grif! I just… you know…”

“No, I don’t fucking know,” replied Grif before he made a throat-clearing noise. “Damn throat. Look… you don’t _have_ to do it if you don’t wanna.”

“Do _what_ Grif?”

“I don’t know… _this_!” 

The reply came out like a croaked shriek, forcing Grif into another coughing fit. Simmons waited for it to die down, but… why _was_ he taking care of Grif? It was true, they didn’t like each other. Grif was a disgusting slob who gorged himself in rotten food and happily shirked off his duties just because he wanted to. He had been nothing but a constant pain in the ass since the day they met. They didn’t like each other. They _never_ liked each other.

So then… why was he bothering? Why had he gone to sit by Grif’s side after Doc’s diagnosis? Why did he take his meals to him? Why was he currently sitting in the showers with him with only one thin wall standing in between them? He didn’t _have_ to _._ Hell, _he shouldn’t_ be. Grif probably wouldn’t do the same for him. Plus it’s not like he _cared._ At all.

“So… what then?” The cyborg asked irritably. “You want to be left to cough yourself to death?!”

“I didn’t-” Another hacking noise. “Didn’t say that, asshole. I asked why _you_ were doing it.”

“Why do you want to know?!” Simmons asked, voice rising slightly. “Do you _not_ want _me_ to? Is _that_ it?!”

“I… I don’t know, okay?!” Grif yelled back as much as he could. “Fuck it, just forget I said anything. Stupid fucking fever is probably messing with my head, anyway…”

Grif trailed off, but Simmons was pissed now. Not just because Grif was acting weird either. What was with the questions all fo a sudden? Did Grif not _want_ his help? Why not? Wait, why did he _care?_ He didn’t! But… why was he even sitting here then?! Donut would have done the job, right? So.. why?!

This was becoming too much too fast.

“Y’know what? You’re right. I don’t know why I’m doing this.” His voice was low as he stood up and made his way to the door.

“Wait, where are you-?”

“I’ll send Donut to help you out.”

He walked away before Grif could protest.

* * *

“No.”

“‘No’ nothing! Sick or not, we’ve still got a war to win! As your commanding officer, I order you to-!”

“Really? When has _that_ ever gotten me to do shit?”

“Never! All the better! Means I can try the shotgun approach!!”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. Not like I-,” _cough cough, “_ -I’m not dying already.”

That had been the scene since about two days ago now. Sarge trying to make Grif go outside to send him to the Blues, Grif refusing, and Sarge struggling against the desire to kill him and the possibility that the sickness would do it first. He seemed very indecisive about which method he preferred when it came to Grif dying painfully.

Simmons listened from afar, only looking towards them every so often to see if the Red Sargeant was still aiming the shotgun at Grif’s head or not. A routine that had also become standard since the whole shower argument. Donut had taken over most of the caretaking duties, and Simmons hadn’t talked directly to Grif since.

He still found himself sitting in the same room though. Most of the time he’d end up turning towards the sofa and always felt embarrassed every time he caught himself. He was feeling more confused than ever. Any time that he considered walking out, Grif would end up wheezing and the cyborg found himself unable to get up. Whenever he tried to resume typing his daily report, he wound up pulling up the Recent Orders page to check on the status of the antibiotics. He didn’t get it He _really_ just didn’t _get it._

“Damn it all Grif…”

“Simmons? Are you okay?” Donut said as he appeared by the cyborg’s side.” Uh oh, are you getting sick too? Your face is all red! Wait here, I’ll get the sou-!”

“I’m not sick Donut,” he growled out. “Just checking on these fucking antibiotics. They were supposed to be here two days ago! What the Hell is taking them so long?!”

“Oh.” Donut was quiet for a moment, and Simmons was hoping he was just going to walk away. But… “Are you sure that it’s not ‘cause of Grif?”

“Wh-what?!” The cyborg shrieked. He quickly turned to the sofa, but Grif seemed too busy covering his head with his pillow to block Sarge’s ramblings out to have noticed anything. “N-No! Why would it be?!”

“I mean… you haven’t talked to him since that time in the shower. Are you guys having some kind of relationship trouble? I read this lovely article about caring for your sick loved ones, it might-”

“I am not reading that.” Simmons glued his eyes back to his datapad as he continued. “He’s in no way or form a ‘loved one’ anyways. He can hack up his own lungs… err, my lungs right now and I won’t give a shit.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Donut, I _am._ I am absolutely fucking sure that I could not give a damn about anything that happens to him. And trust me, he made it clear that the feeling’s mutual.”

Well okay, that wasn’t _quite_ true. Grif never outright said he didn’t care about him. But why else would he be asking why Simmons cared? That wasn’t the routine. Grif hated Simmons. Simmons hated Grif. That was that.

“...you both really are hopeless.”

“Huh?” Simmons looked up just in time to see Donut’s retreating form. What did _that_ mean?

His gaze turned back to Grif. Sarge had since stomped off and the sick soldier was trying to settle himself back into his spot. He cracked open one eye though to aim an annoyed look at Simmons.

“What?”

Simmons turned back to his work, giving the other no reply.

* * *

It had taken a week, but a small package had _finally_ arrived on the Reds doorstep. The antibiotics! At last! The torment was finally over!

Simmons rolled the pill bott!e in his hands as he carefully read the instructions. Once a day. Alright. He just hoped that he got the right thing. With Doc not for sure about which ones needed to be taken, Simmons had to make an educated guess. But it was at least something cause the sooner that this was over and he could not worry about Grif (like he is right now)) again, the better.

He got out the recommended dosage and some water. He was going to have to be the one to give it to Grif. Sarge, of course, wasn’t going to do it, and Donut was indulging in Wine and Cheese hour currently with Lopez. That left only him to care for the sick fatass. He still hadn’t talked to him since their spat. Nor had Grif made an effort to talk to him.

It was fine. Didn’t bother him at all.

The maroon soldier took a deep breath. Here it goes nothing. He walked up to the side of the cough.

“Alright fatass, the antibiotics came in. So let’s just get this-.”

He froze.

Grif’s face was practically red, his body shivering and the blanket had fallen to the floor. There was sweat all over his brow. But the worse part was his breathing. It sounded _very_ uneven. Moreso than it had been since his illness began. It was growing rapidly by the second. 

It was just like that first day all over again.

A harsh wheezing sound caused Simmons to jump back, the glass and pills falling to the ground. He was by Grif’s side in a flash, placing his cyborg hand on the drenched forehead. Fuck, what happened?! Grif was fine just a little bit ago! He’d been doing mostly fine for days now! Now he took a downward spiral form out of _fucking nowhere._

A number flashed in his robot eye. 105 degrees. _Fuck!_

  
  


Grif was still wheezing. It sounded like he was choking on something. Simmons didn’t know what do do. In the heat of the moment, his cyborg arm wrapped around the other man’s shoulders and with a grunt, he propped him up into sitting position. His other hand was on his back, patting against it as carefully but still firmly as possible.

“Come on Grif. You gotta cough it out! Fuck, _come on!”_

He could feel both his arms straining to keep Grif propped up, but he continued his motions. Finally, Grif began coughing out… something gross, that was all that Simmons needed to know. It took a few more coughs and Simmons continuing to pat his back, but it wasn’t long before it finally ceased. Grif was breathing hard and nearly fell over into his own mucus had Simmons not had his arm around him, but he didn’t sound like water had just gone down the wrong pipe anymore, at least.

Slowly, Simmons lowered Grif back down and adjusted the pillows to keep him more upright. His breathing was still raspy but otherwise sounded much more stable. He let out a long exhale. That… that had been… Grif sounded like he could have…

He shook his head hard. No. He was _not_ going to think about this anymore. He just… he just needed to get the antibiotics into Grif’s system as soon as possible. Right, just that.

He grabbed a nearby tissue and started to wipe up the messy aftermath, only for a croaky vice to stop him.

“Simmons?”

He looked up to see Grif’s mismatched, half-lidded eyes staring directly at him. 

“...yeah, it’s me. You, ugh… had a bit fo a fit a bit ago.” Grif didn’t react, so Simmons resumed his motions. “I’ve got it taken care of. As soon as I’m done, you can take these antibiotics and I’ll leave you a-.”

“I‘m sorry”

“...what?”

“Said I’m sorry,” Grif said weakly, sleepily. “About the shower. Know I pissed you off.”

“That…” Simmons found himself at a loss for words for a moment. “...there’s nothing to be sorry for. You were right anyways. I don’t care about you, and you don’t care about me.”

“...that's not true”

“...”

Simmons looked back to Grif. His eyes were still only partly open but they were clearly unfocused. It must be the fever talking. He needed to take care of that. _Now_.

“I’ll be right back.” He ran into the kitchen, quickly drenching the closest rag with ice-cold water as well as filling up another glass, and running back to wipe across Grif's forehead, face, and neck.. “Your fever spiked back up. You need to keep this in place until it goes back down.”

Grif looked at him, but once more didn’t seem to react. Simmons left the rap on his forehead as he bent down to pick up the forgotten pills. As he did so, Grif seemed to not like the quiet as he began talking again.

“Don’t hate you, ya know? I mean… you’re an annoying kissass… but I don’t hate you. Liked you better than Donut. Won’t ever just leave me alone. Can’t ever shut up either. Neither do you… but I think you sound better anyways. Voice is real nice.”

Simmons gulped as he tried to suppress the flush breaking out.

“Like talking to you. Even when you yell at me ‘bout my cancer sticks. Must be how I got sick. With Donut’s cold. Stupid, fucking Donut. Better me than you though. They need you more than m anyways…”

“...what does _that_ mean?”

“I mean… you’re smart. You do all the smart things. You-” _cough_ “-you do all the shit that no one else could be bothered with. It’s why it should be us running things. Not like I’d ever do anything.”

“O-okay, you can stop now.” Simmons tried to say with a trembling voice, but Grif continued.

“Always liked all that stuff ‘bout you. Hate it too cause I get yelled at. But still like. Really like you, Simmons. Like you like my Oreos. Just about as much.”

If he wasn’t red already, Simmons was for sure that he was now. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting… but it sure as Hell wasn’t _that!_ He didn’t know what to say to any of… _that!_ On shaky feet, he got back up, pills in hand.

“You… y-you need to go ahead and take these.” Oh great, _now_ he was stuttering. “Then, ugh… you can… go back to sleep or whatever.”

Grif just kept looking at him, and Simmons took that as good of a sign as any. He helped Grif sit up before handing him the water, then the pills. Grif swallowed them down easily. With that done, Simmons lowered him back down and began to turn away…

...only for weak fingertips to hook around his left hand.

“Wait, you’re not… gonna go? Right?”

Simmons dared to look over his shoulder. The look on Grif’s face… the almost _heartbroken_ look as he stared at him with begging eyes…

“...no.” Simmons said as he turned back to face him. He grabbed the stool to pull closer and took Grif’s hand more fully into his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Grif’s expression shifted into a relieved one before his eyes slid shut. Simmons kept his eyes on him and his breathing. Their hands remained intertwined.

* * *

Several days passed. Grif’s fever had dropped back down, and his condition began to improve greatly. He still had a fever, but it was much more manageable and his coughing had greatly slowed down. He’d finally been moved back to his own room, something he was actually disappointed about since he had preferred the mangled cough to his dingy cot. Still, his symptoms were almost flu-like now, and even that should fade soon enough. It was a major relief for everyone.. well except for Sarge, but he'd figure out a new 'kill the Blues/Grif' plan sooner or later.

Simmons watched as Grif happily slurped down on his soup. Neither of them had brought up Grif’s feverish spout. Simmons wasn’t even sure if Grif remembered it. And if that was the case, the cyborg wasn’t sure how to address it. Or even if he _should._ He was still processing it, to be frank. But, he supposed, that would be something to worry about another day.

“So am I ever gonna get to have anything else besides this shit?” Grif asked while setting the bowl aside. “If I have to have that same soup _one more time,_ I think I’ll snap.”

“It’s still all that we’ve got right now,” Simmons replied, which made Grif groan. “I’m sure it can’t be _too_ much longer until it’s all used up though”

“Fuck it. As soon as I’m cleared, I’m grabbing them all and dumping ‘em outside. No wait, can’t waste perfectly good soup. I’ll just drink ‘em all. Wait shit, they’d all be cold. Cold soup is fucking _gross._ ”

“It’s not _that_ bad. They can actually be very good for you, especially in the Summer.”

“The whole _point_ of soup is to warm you up Simmons. How dare you support such a crime against nature. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Simmons couldn’t hold back a chuckle. Despite the… circumstances around it, since their talk, things were pretty much back to normal between them now. Well, at least on Grif’s end it seemed to. Simmons still wasn’t quite sure how to feel after all that. But he didn’t feel like leaving his teammate’s side anytime soon.

“Alright,” the cyborg grabbed the nearby pills and water cup. “You ready to take your medicine?”

“Lay it on me.”

Simmons bent down to hand Grif the cup… only to freeze in place when Grif leaned up. His lips pressed gently to his flesh cheek. It was a quick motion, and Grif had pulled back and taken the offered medication just as quickly as he had sat up. Fingertips drifted tot he spot, tracing it lightly. What just…?

“I meant it, by the way,” the cyborg snapped his attention back to Grif. “About… all that shit I said. I don’t remember all of it, but… since we were holding hands and all, I must have said _something_ along the lines of ‘I do care about you, fucking kissass’. Which I do… except when I don’t, obviously.”

There were so many things racing through Simmons’ mind. So many things he wanted to say. But instead, he took a step closer and bent back down. He pressed his lips gently into the other’s temple, his hand reaching up to cup his cheek He pulled back, and brushed aside some of Grif’s dark locks to see his face clearly. They were both grinning big.

“Yeah, I care about you too fatass.”

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt down! This ended up changing a LOT from my original plan. Long story short, I took the plans for this one and am saving it for another prompt. I also was gonna have Simmons be the sick one especially after the last fic... until I remembered that he was a cyborg and I didn't want to set it to before then, so... sorry Grif. I kept my wod about making this less dark than the last one though! Can't be so sure with the next one, but still!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this! I had so much fun writing this one! BGC Grimmons is so fun with how stupid they are, haha! Thank you all for reading~!


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